The event: All of a sudden Violet and I start jumping around, dropping
dog treats all over the ground while squealing “Treat Party! Treat
party! Treeeeeat party!!!” and get the Seal as worked up and happy and
excited as possible.

The reason: Supposedly if she is ever in a life threatening situation,
like bolting into the street to chase a squirrel with a semi coming at
her, we can yell “!!Treeeeeat Partyyyy!!” and she will stop whatever
she is doing and coming running back to us.

When Violet first explained this whole thing to me I was extremely
resistant, as in no way, like I usually am with anything new that I
don’t understand or that will entail me acting like a moron. But she put
her foot down and said that we HAD to do this.

Seal came running into the room and was so unbelievably ecstatic while
gobbling up her treats, hopping around with us and wagging her tail so
hard that she almost knocked herself over I started laughing that
laugh where you aren’t quite sure if you’re laughing or crying – or
some sort of combination.

My life at 7:45 a.m. on a Wedensday: Two girls and a Seal dog, all three of us, in our livingroom, hopping around chanting nonsense like we are totally crazy and out of control. It was awesome.

I have no idea what the Seal’s first two years of life were like but I
am convinced that if, at the end of her life, she wrote down her top ten
favorite moments, that her first !!Treat Party!! would probably make
the list.

I’m willing to bet the same for me.

*my dog’s blog name, ‘Dog’, just happens to be the same as one of my
favorite blog’s dog’s names, also Dog. And so, to keep some
distinction within these fabulous queer blogs, from here on out, my
dog, the artist formally known as ‘Dog’, will now be referred to as the
Seal (which is what Violet and I call her anyway, because that is what she looks like in the water and when she’s sleeping).

My new thing is to download the most recent This American Life onto my IPod and listen to it during my commutes to and from work. This new trend started because 1. I am sick of every single song I own and 2. It’s just a great show and the stories make my ride to work so very enjoyable.

So, last week’s show was titled “A Little Bit of Knowledge” and the theme was how people (everyone, at some point) will talk like experts about things they don’t know much, if anything about. The prologue covers several people’s stories of what and how they found out too late in life that they had false information about something they had been spouting about all of their lives.

  One woman, in her twenties, learns from a crowd at a party that unicorns aren’t real after wondering out loud whether they were endangered or extinct.

 Another woman had always thought that the X-ing signs were pronounced “Zing” and also learned the truth in an embarrassing manner way too late in life.

 One guy lived his life thinking that the Nielson ratings were only conducted by families with the last name Nielson. Again, lesson learned too late and out loud.  

Listening to this show this morning had me laughing hard enough to look like that crazy person on the bus and have mentioned it to several people since - who then offered up their own examples, which have been hilarious.

Mine you ask? Two have come to mind today:

1. When I was little my dad told me that the foam in the ocean was whale pee and it seemed more than believable at the time and so I never questioned this until my early twenties, while at the beach, running away from a very foamy wave, yelling to my friends ”AAAAH, WATCH OUT FOR THE WHALE PEE!”

2. Until two years ago I thought it was “for all intensive purposes” (rather than intents and purposes)

Two of the best I’ve heard so far today:

“Flash in the pants” (instead of pan, of course)

“Cufflings” (as in little baby cuffs, instead of cuff links)

Now it’s your turn.

The weekend with my mom and my grandma, and then the unexpected guest(s), Violet’s brother and eventually his girlfriend too, went well. Good actually. Nice. And at times, fun. And, in a general sense, I feel closer to my grandma in ways. She was, as expected, difficult at times, but nothing major, nothing over the top.

I watched my mom deal with her during those few moments when she was being a PIA (pain in ass) and I watched my mom be remarkably patient. I could tell that she was annoyed but she was so flawless in remaining calm and kind that I realized I had always just assumed this was a natural characteristic of my mom, when in fact her sincere, “It’s ok, no problem” is an intentionally practiced skill-turned talent. I observed (and admired) this in hopes of learning something, as patience is not free and my mom has always been bottomless.

After I dropped the two of them off at the train station my mind started to replay the last few days. I started to realize how much I don’t know about my grandma – and want to- and probably never will. There were moments where I wondered if she was apologizing for what she had said the weekend before, in her own way - or if she had just moved on and softened up that quickly? I couldn’t stop wondering about a lot.

I’ve talked to my mom about this before, and I wonder if my grandma would have been/ would be a lesbian if that was an ‘option’ for her? Despite several husbands, a few of us were never convinced. Is she a feminist? Has she ever had an orgasm? Has she ever kissed another woman? I started to see her as a whole person who has had a really big life… and I don’t know any of the internal stuff to ANY of it. I want to know but I have no idea how to know. I just can’t see her opening up that way and I also can’t see myself asking my grandma if she’s ever gotten off.

She was born in West Virginia and now in her 70’s, has ended up a fairly well off, twice widowed, retired woman living in Hawaii. How in the world did that happen? Did she MAKE that life happen or did it just go that way? She was in love with my mom’s dad, but ever again? I’m not sure. I’m not sure if she’s sure. I’m not sure that mattered.

I’m not sure how she came to think the way she does about anything. Is she a republican because of her money? Or does she really believe it that political philosophy? Does she really think gay people shouldn’t marry? Or is that just an unchecked opinion? What in the world does she really believe in? What in the world really matters to her? I don’t know. And I don’t know if I ever will.

On Saturday, while walking through Pike Place Market, my grandma asked a woman to take our picture, “This is going to be my Christmas card so sunglasses off and smile” she said to mom and me through her already ready camera smile.

The woman held the camera to her face and asked, “How do y’all know each other anyway?”

My grandma responded, “We’re three generation right here, out on the town together.” And it was right then, arm in arm in arm, that I realized I was in some pretty incredible company… and damn lucky.

I bought it. I registered the domain name justlikejessejames(dot)com. Why, you ask? I don’t know. None the less it’s mine… Aaaaaaall miiiine.

Try it. Type in justlikejessejames(dot)com up top there and watch, you’ll end up right back here. Magic, I tell you. Simply magic.

A few days ago Sinclair and I were having our happy hour phone time together over a few glasses of prosecco and chardonnay. At one point she mentioned that I missed Cherday last week and that this was not ok with her. I apologized. She then mentioned that she had heard somewhere that the song Gypsies Tramps and Thieves will get any song that is stuck in your head unstuck. I had not heard this before. While still on the phone we both surfed the net a bit and found no solid evidence of this (if Google doesn’t know, well then, one might never know).

So, as your homework, I would like for you to listen to that song, the one you know will get stuck in your head- get it stuck, really, really stuck, and then watch this video. Let me know if it works. (Extra credit if you tell me what song is that song for you.)

Happy Friday-eve, happy Cherday!

btw: That song that gets stuck in my head and then will. not. leave. is Dude Looks Like a Lady, by Aerosmith … just typing it and I can feel it creeping in. Damn.

I’m both, really. Ever since my cornered conversation with my grandma I’ve been reviewing my own personal relationship status with people/ friends/ family. That quick little back and forth last weekend really upset me and I feel like I need to do something, but none of my natural reactions feel right.

My usual response is to first fight a bit and then flee to whatever degree I deem necessary. Really, Violet is the first person in my life where the impulse to flee has diminished so greatly that sometimes it just takes stepping into the next room for a minute so that my rational brain can reattach to my body before my mouth opens again. But besides my relationship with Violet, if you corner me into feeling defensive I will usually bite back some and then get the hell out.

When I was 19 and found out my first love, my high school sweetheart, had cheated on me I booked a flight from Oregon to Vermont in the middle of January. It was a bold and cold (weather-wise) move bought and sold entirely by a first-time broken heart. I fled the scene in hopes of my aches staying behind, and that taking me away from her would hurt her. My plan was to go far, far away from the chaotic cloud of a break up and dance in the streets on a different coast, any street, free. And so I left. And what I thought would be a few months wandering aimlessly to pick up the pieces and come home ended up in my landing and living in Atlanta, Georgia for a few years (where my heart finally healed enough to get by and I ended up meeting my next great love. I never did move back to Oregon).

Another relationship’s end, in my mid-twenties, resulted in a one way ticket to Croatia, where I traveled most of Eastern Europe by myself for several months (Dubrovnik – go there!)

I think I must have learned this fight and flight technique from my dad, or at least that’s where it was introduced to me. When I was little, he and I got into it all of the time, over anything and sometimes everything. I’m have vague memories of spatting angry words back and forth over a two-by-four I loved, or something just as pointless, until eventually we’d both mutually retreat to somewhere away from the other, until later (the time frame that ‘later’ refers to varied depending on the individual level of injury due to insult).

When I would storm off, usually to my bedroom before he could tell me to go to my room, I would hide in the closet (yes, literally) and make and hang signs on my door that read things like, “Anyone can come in this room unless you have a mustache” or “All welcome, except for guys named William”. He thought this was cute, but it was my anger finding a way out. If I couldn’t leave I would keep him from coming in.

The first time I really upped my ability of flight was after a big blow out with dad. I can’t remember how old I was exactly, maybe 8. We were yelling aimlessly at each other and I remember it originated with a fight I was having with my brother and my dad taking his side. I stormed off yelling, “Fine. I don’t want to live here then! I’m running away!”

There was no response from dad, which was typical, meaning he was pissed, which was exactly what I was looking for. I packed a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, a yoyo, my rubik’s cube, a few marbles, a little notebook and a small pencil into a handkerchief, that I would later tie to the end of a stick, just like in the movies, and walked out of my room, nervous and prepared for more battle.

“Ok, I’m leaving now!” I yelled, kind of wondering why he wasn’t right outside of my door.

“Wait. Here.” Dad said, coming out of the kitchen holding two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cut diagonally, the way I liked.

And I left, right out the front door. I walked down several blocks in our subdivision until I got to a point where I would have to cross a pretty busy road. I stopped and stared. I was so torn. I wasn’t allowed to cross that road without an adult… but I needed to run away to prove a point… but I really didn’t want to break that rule and the road kind of scared me.

So, I stood there until finally I sat down there, at the edge of that busy road. I ate one of the sandwiches dad had made for me and then became really thirsty – too much peanut butter like always! I stared at that road and started to obsess over the idea of a cold glass of milk. Eventually, the milk won and I turned around to go home.

I walked back in the house, having been gone all of 45 minutes and went back to my room to unpack. Dad came inside from the garage and said with a surprised voice, “You’re back, huh?” which made it all feel worth it to me for some reason. (He told me years later that he had secretly followed me, just in case, and when I came back he acted like he was in the garage doing something).

Later that evening we were all watching TV, Scarecrow and Mrs. King to be exact, and I asked my dad if I could sit on his lap. He patted his legs and said, “Get up here,” and that was that.

There’s no point to this I guess, except that I am realizing that I need to learn how not to leave, or I need to pay more attention to my intentions for leaving. When I’m arguing with Violet I usually leave so that I don’t say things I don’t mean. The other night when my grandma cornered me I left with Dog for a walk and when that didn’t work I left by drinking my way out of the situation so that I wouldn’t have to accept what she said as something she really said.

But thus far, every conflict I’ve ever been in with someone I love has either worked its way out or it hasn’t - and that’s just the way things go and will go whether I’m there to see it through or not. So, my grandma is going to be here this weekend, and in every way I can figure out how to, I’m going to try to be too. We’ll see.

In my last post I mention that after all had gone to hell at the James house I eventually gave in and up and went with the ol’ When in Rome idea and decided to drown the family dysfunction in cheap Chardonnay. So, I drank… too much that night. And I now remember, having just got off the phone with my grandma, that my drinking that night revitalized my affection for her and the whole family. It also caused me to not only come up with a brilliant idea but to spout it off right as it was developing in my drunk little head, “Grandma, you know what you should do?!? You should change your flight to later and spend next weekend with Violet and me up in Seattle!”

Yes, I said that. Yes she remembered. Yes she considered my invitation and changed her flight. And yes she is coming up here with my mom this weekend.

I have decided not to give in to the anxiety and just go with it. What’s done is done and if all else fails I will send them to the Olympic Sculpture Park with a map to Pike Place Market and pick them up before it gets too dark. Chances are we’ll have a fine, if not great time, but man, I could really use a weekend.

“Happy Independence Day”, I said to Dog as soon as I unlocked the front door to our house Sunday evening, “you hear me, don’t you girl.” She and I both plopped down in the back outside and stared at Fraidy swim around and around… and around for a while. It was warm and quiet. It was nice.

I don’t remember where or exactly when I heard this story, but I was young when I did and it stuck. For several reasons, it has been stuck in my head all week. I would love to sit all of the people I work with down on little nap-mats, give them a little organic juice pack to suck on and have story time with this little gem.

______________

During lunch, two construction workers always sit together on one of the rafters and eat together. As they open their lunches it always goes the same way. One opens his lunchbox and finds a fresh, crisp sandwich, a bag of chips, his favorite drink and a dessert of some sort, usually a chocolate chip cookie.

The other opens his lunch sack to find a squashed peanut butter and jelly sandwich on soggy white bread and that’s it. Every day, Monday through Friday, he seems totally surprised and disappointed to find the same thing and proceeds to start his lunch hour moaning, “Man, peanut butter and jelly again!?! I don’t even like peanut butter.”

One day the guy with the awesome lunch listens patiently to the other guy complain and finally asks, “Dude, why don’t you just ask your wife to make you something different?”

The guy holding his lifeless sandwich says, “Wife? No, my wife doesn’t make my lunch. I make my own sandwiches.”

A very sick dog, a few slashed tires, a dysfunctional bus system and way too much going on at work has Jesse far, far away from blogland. Apologies. Back next week.